


If All the World and Love

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: "eh" approach to mythology, Alternate Universe, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6870763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say a man enthralled by a nymph’s song could lose himself for days, weeks even - drawn away from home and hearth to the rivers and streams where they lived. </p>
<p>Carver always thought that sounded like a bunch of horseshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If All the World and Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erebones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/gifts).



> For the tumblr prompt "the witching soul of music".

He’s hardly made his way through the underbrush when he hears the music. Just bits of it, carried over by the wind, but enough to tell him he’s on the right path. Not that he truly thought he wouldn’t find it again. Maker knows he’s thought about taking it more than once in the last few days.

 

As the music grows louder and he leaves the woods behind, he hears other things - the soft gurgling of the stream, birds chirping high up in the trees. But none of it as clear and curious as the gentle sound of the lyre.

 

The tall grass has long recuperated from Carver’s last visit, swaying in the wind and covering whatever track he might have left behind. But when he gets closer to the high, thick bushes, he can make out the small opening through which he crawled last time. Some of the branches are broken and he feels almost a little bad when more snap as he squeezes himself through again.

 

He finds Felix as he left him, perched on a boulder on the other side of the stream with a lyre in his hands. He’s completely engrossed in the music, his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips as he plucks on the strings. Carver stops at the edge of the stream, not daring to move or make a sound.

 

The rest of the world falls away, every note like a pebble into clear water, echoing in Carver’s chest. There’s a wreath of flowers on Felix’s head, the soft pink a stark contrast against the dark expanse of his skin, and Carver keeps his eyes on them instead of letting them wander further down. He knows the sun will have left Felix’s bare skin warm to the touch, a memory that curls up low in his belly.

 

He knows the tales. He’s listened to stories about the nymphs since he was a little child, comfortable in his mother’s lap. They call them spirits sometimes. Less flattering things on other occasions. Bewitching mortals with their song, endlessly curious. They say a man enthralled by a nymph’s song could lose himself for days, weeks even - drawn away from home and hearth to the rivers and streams where they lived.

 

Carver always thought that sounded like a bunch of horseshit.

 

The last note lingers in the air and for a heartbeat longer, Carver hears and sees and feels nothing else. And then…

 

Felix opens his eyes and the world rushes back into place. The sound of the stream and the birds and the wind rustling through the high grass and wildflowers behind him. Carver blinks, once, twice, before taking a deep, shaky breath.

 

“You came back,” Felix says and his smile is as warm and bright as the sunlight on his face.

 

Carver clears his throat. “Said I would, didn’t I?”

 

“You did.” Felix sets the lyre aside and gets up. Carver keeps his eyes firmly on his face. “But humans don’t always tell the truth.”

 

“And nymphs always do?”

 

Felix cocks his head like he actually has to think about that. “We’re very bad liars, I think. You’d be able to tell.” He smiles again. “But I’m glad you came.”

 

Carver’s not even aware that he’s taking off his shoes until his toes are digging into the soft wet sand at the edge of the stream. _Like a dream_ , he thinks as he takes the first step into the water. It’s coming straight down from the mountain and should be a lot colder than it is, gently lapping at Carver’s calves. He knows it gets broader and deeper, further up north by the village, and for a moment he imagines what it must be like to fully submerge himself, to let the current carry him away.

 

“Carver.” Felix voice is low but firm and Carver blinks again. When he looks up he finds him reaching out to him and Carver takes the last few steps to take his hand. His skin is just as warm and soft as he remembers.

 

Felix gives his hand a little tug and leads him out of the water and up the bank towards the boulder.  

 

“You’re wearing more clothes than last time,” Felix says and reaches out to run his fingers along the stichting at Carver’s collar. He leans in a little closer, like every stitch deserves special examination.

 

“Just because you caught me bathing last time,” Carver mumbles, the memory strong enough to heat up his face.

  
Felix smiles wistfully and pats Carver’s chest. “You were splashing about so much I thought a druffalo had fallen into my stream.”

 

Carver huffs. “I slipped!”

 

“Ah, yes.” Felix nods and steps back. “A druffalo would have been a lot more sure-footed.”

 

“I could catch you a druffalo if you’d rather spend time with one.”

 

Felix laughs and sits down in the soft grass. “I’m perfectly happy with the current company.” He pats the empty spot beside him and Carver settles down, albeit a lot less graceful than him.

 

Digging his toes into the soft sand, he keeps his eyes on the stream, acutely aware of the fact that Felix is staring at him. He knows exactly what Felix looks like at the moment, head cocked and a quizzical look on his face, like Carver is a tricky problem he's determined to figure out. Like he’s… fascinating, as impossible as that sounds.

 

“You’re staring again,” he says after a while.

 

“Oh?” From the corner of his eye, he sees Felix fidget. “I’m sorry. I was just…” His laugh sounds as nervous as Carver feels. “I don’t see many humans. Up close.”

 

Carver bites the inside of his cheek. “Not many humans taking a bath in your stream then?”

 

“Quite a few, actually,” Felix says quickly. “But I’ve never…” He stops himself. “Are they all as tall as you?”

 

“Mh?”

 

“Oh no, was that offensive?” Felix puts his hand on Carver’s arm but pulls away before he can even process it. “I’ve got nothing to compare it to. You’re just very…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “Big.”

 

Carver can feel the laughter building inside his chest but isn’t fast enough to hold it in. Felix blinks, looking utterly confused. “No, no! It’s not offensive.” Carver gently bumps against Felix’s shoulder. “Not at all. Just… unexpected.”

 

Felix’s smile looks a little bit like it’s just covering his confusion but he seems relieved. “Oh, good. I get worried. I was afraid I spooked you last time and that you wouldn’t come back.” He ducks his head.

 

“Hey,” Carver says and nudges him again. “I’m good, alright? I came back, didn’t I?”

 

Felix smiles and leans against him, just lightly. “Yeah, you did.”

 

* * *

 

It has to be some kind of magic, Carver thinks. Something that keeps the sun from moving in the sky and the afternoon from ending. It’s not that he’s complaining, the strangeness of it just a quiet whisper in the back of his head. It’s a comfortable kind of haziness. When he gets sleepy, he stretches out on the soft grass and naps, the sun keeping him warm. Even in his dreams he can hear the sound of the lyre and, almost like the rushing of the stream, Felix's voice.

 

He wakes when a fat, fuzzy bee flies past too close to his ear. The sun is still high in the sky and Felix sits on the boulder, idly plucking on the strings of his lyre.

 

“Did you sleep well?”

 

Carver sits up and stretches. He thought he’d be stiffer after sleeping on the ground but he just feels rested, a lazy kind of warmth settled into every inch of his skin. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep:”

 

Felix smiles. “Perhaps you needed it.”

 

There’s some truth to that, Carver thinks and runs his hands through his disheveled hair. “I heard you sing,” he says and scoots closer to the boulder.

 

Felix ducks his head, his cheeks a shade darker.

 

“No,” Carver says and reaches out to brush his fingers against Felix’s foot. “It was nice.” He rests his head against the side of Felix’s knee. “Really nice.”

 

“Thank you,” Felix says. And then, a little wistfully, “You’ll have to leave soon.” But he gently combs his fingers through Carver’s hair and when he makes no move to get up, plays him another song. And another after that.

 

Carver thinks he’ll fall asleep again to the sound of Felix’s voice but he’s wide awake, every note and every word sinking into him. Sometimes he thinks he can almost understand the words but they flee from him every time he tries to focus on them, like holding on to water.

 

“You cannot stay,” Felix tells him again, a little while later, although the sun hasn’t moved at all. But he weaves flowers into Carver’s hair until every time he moves, little petals fall from his head and to the ground like snow.

 

Carver laughs and brushes them from Felix’s face when he rests his head in his lap. “You worry too much,” he says and there are little lines around Felix’s eyes when he frowns like this. “I’m fine.” Carver smoothes them with the pad of his thumb, stubbornly again and again, until Felix laughs and swats his hand away.

 

More petals fall and Felix reaches up to cup the side of Carver’s face. “You could grow a beard,” he says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I could weave flowers into your beard if you had one.”

 

Carver makes a face but leans into the touch. “I’d look ridiculous,” he says. “And I’d sneeze all the time.”

 

Felix presses his thumb against the corner of his mouth and smiles. “Still worth it, I think.”

 

Warmth spreads through Carver’s chest and deep in his belly and when he leans down to kiss Felix, he rises up to meet him - so enthusiastic that Carver can’t help but smile. The angle is awkward and more flowers fall from his hair when Felix runs his fingers through it but his lips are soft and he tastes like sunshine feels and the thought makes him dizzier than any magic.

 

“You’ll have to go soon,” Felix says and looks up at him, his lips red and shiny and terribly, terribly distracting.

 

“Soon,” Carver agrees and lets himself be pulled down into another kiss. But not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Sir Walter Raleigh's poem "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepard".
> 
> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


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